


Wrong and Right, and Perfect

by hypnoshatesme



Series: Time Against Us [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cute and Sad, Fluff and Angst, Other, mostly distortion michael, some pining i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Gerry gets used to the yellow door that seems to follow him around. He gets used to the entity coming through it, too. Maybe a bit more than used to it. Definitley more than just used to it.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Series: Time Against Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685134
Comments: 30
Kudos: 140





	Wrong and Right, and Perfect

Gerry hadn't known Michael Shelley, at least not well. They had talked when Gerry had gotten stuck waiting for Gertrude in the Institute, which happened a lot, or when he himself ended up needing some sort of information from the Archive. Michael had always been eager to help. Maybe Gerry had flirted with him on those occasions. Initially it was more teasing, boredom and curiosity getting the better of Gerry. Michael was timid and fussy, and nobody seemed to ever talk to him unless to request his help. Gerry had wondered how he’d react if somebody did. And so, after waiting for more than five minutes and with no sign of the waiting being over anytime soon, he did just that.

Michael did not disappoint. Gerry couldn’t even remember what exactly he had said, but the other man had frozen, face flushing brightly as he tried to stammer an answer, getting more embarrassed by his own flusteredness. It was cute. So Gerry made it a habit. With time, Michael started being more comfortable, so they could actually hold a conversation without him dissolving into a blushing, stuttering mess. But his eyes were still bright, his cheeks still blushing, hands fidgeting nervously. He was cute. Gerry liked talking to him, liked the soft, clear voice that could get all high and excited, and low and grave within only a couple minutes. It was fun.

Gerry hadn’t known Michael Shelley well, but he hadn’t been oblivious to him, either. So when he glanced at the tall, lanky figure that came to stand next to him in the alley he had ducked into to smoke in peace, the first thing that came to his mind was Michael Shelley. Which was ridiculous. The figure was even taller than Michael had been, limbs longer. The hair looked too long, too, though it was hard to tell since Gerry had never seen it outside of the messy bun Michael had worn it in every day in the institute.

Most importantly, looking at Michael had never given Gerry a headache, had never made his skin tingle as it was with him eyeing the figure beside him now. It wasn’t human. Gerry scoffed internally at his own certainty about that. Of course he could tell that in a dimly lit alley without even looking properly at the figure. That’s just how his life was.

Still, in the back of his mind, the picture of Michael Shelley kept creeping up. Gerry had assumed him dead when Gertrude returned without him. She had said he wouldn’t be coming back, though. Nothing about him dying. Gerry turned around to get a better look at the figure in the dim street light. It was dizzying. There was movement. Its hair was curling itself into spiral patterns, defying gravity and all logic; its body vaguely human, but not quite, too many sharp edges, skin looking like it’d cut. It probably would. Its fingers too long with too many joints, twitching, much like Michael’s hands had, but less nervous, more _wrong_.

When Gerry finally managed to control his eyes enough to look at what should presumably be the face, despite his head throbbing the harder he tried, he froze. It was Michael Shelley. Same round, unthreatening face. Except full of sharp edges, split by a unnaturally wide grin revealing a row of pointy teeth. Except with eyes that looked like a nightmare, all colours and shapes, all moving together, independently and all at once, instead of the warm, grey eyes that Gerry had gotten used to making sparkle with the right words. 

Gerry had to avert his eyes to collect his thoughts, to remember how to build sentences.

“Michael?”, he decided to ask, mind still racing with colours and shapes and the implications of the being standing beside him and the fact that he wasn’t sure if he could fight it now that he had looked at it for so long his head felt like it was exploding.

It laughed and Gerry held his head, the noise like shattered glass, engulfing him, reverberating inside his brain. Somewhere mixed in there, though, it sounded like Michael’s laughter, sweet and shy. It was both and neither at the same time and Gerry thought that he might be losing his mind.

He had been disappointed when Michael didn’t return. He hadn’t allowed anything beyond that sharp pang in his gut. There was work to do. Gerry was feeling tears when he looked up again after the laughter stopped. Were they his? Of course they were. How did that question even occur to him.

“In a sense. It is a name.”, it said after a moment of consideration, and the voice was Michael’s, too, but it clearly was nothing like it.

The pain Gerry felt at the sound had nothing to do with how wrong it sounded. Or maybe it had. He wasn’t sure. He was obviously dealing with the Distortion, there was no trusting his senses. Gerry took a long drag of his nearly burned down cigarette, exhaling slowly, trying to calm down.

“You...ate him?”, he asked.

His voice didn’t sound like his own. Was he shaking? He stared at his fingers, but his view was still cloudy from tears. He cleaned them away with the back of his hand.

It cocked its head to the side. Too far. A human neck would’ve broken at that angle.

“As much as he ate me.”, there was a permanent sliver of amusement in that voice, an inaudible chuckle, a cackle.

Somehow, that was more disconcerting than everything else to Gerry. It was grating at him, bringing out something raw and angry Gerry had been ignoring, burying deep within.

“Spit him out.”, Gerry hissed, and the anger was clear in his voice now.

Suddenly, he wanted to punch it. He didn’t. It looked sharp. It would be foolish to attack it with his bare hands. Gerry felt triumphant for having a thought so reasonable in that moment.

It moved its head further to the side and Gerry couldn't tell if he imagined the crack that motion made. It didn't seem bothered by it. It chuckled, again, this time softer and it didn't make Gerry want to double over in pain.

"If I told you to spit out your heart, would you?"

It probably could make him, Gerry thought first, mind still processing the meaning of those words. It was the Distortion. It was also Michael Shelley, though Gerry couldn't tell how much of him was left beyond the suggestion of his form.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, "What do you want?", and in the back of his mind he got ready to fight, because what else could it want but to drive him insane. It was its nature.

It laughed again and Gerry braced himself, but it didn't hurt as it had. It tingled, that distinct feeling of wrongness when fazed by anything relating to the Spiral; a discomfort, the earlier pain dulled. Gerry wondered if that was done on purpose.

"You shouldn't trust her.", it said and pulled a face, voice shattering into something akin to a gasp and utterly unlike it.

Gerry’s ears were ringing, "Her?"

It took some time to spit out the next words, face further contorting. Distantly, Gerry thought it looked like pain.

"The archivist."

There was venom in those words and Gerry nearly took a step back, feeling the impact of the word like a blow. Trusting Gertrude Robinson beyond their wary collaboration currently in place had never occurred to him. She did not seem like the trustworthy type. He didn’t trust easily.

It took Gerry a moment to find his voice again, "I don't. Why are you telling me this?"

"I wanted to.", it said with a pained expression that made that hard to believe.

"Michael Shelley wanted to?", Gerry asked because that sounded more likely.

It nodded its head mechanically, only half a nod before it’s face contorted in agony and it stumbled back.

It was holding its head and Gerry could see the pointy fingers burying into its scalp as it gasped, "He worried, in...the end. About you."

That sounded awfully like Michael Shelley. Gerry’s stomach twisted into a tight knot; maybe literally, considering the being in front of him. The being heaving and swaying, reaching out to steady itself against the wall. A door opened, creaking, and then the entity was going through it, dragging itself in stiff motions and Gerry thought there was something wrong with its face. More wrong. There was blood trickling down its mouth and nose, its eyes. Gerry watched as the creature closed the door behind it.

When Gerry blinked again the door was gone and he felt a distant burn on his fingers. He looked and his cigarette had burned down completely. Gerry watched the small spot of irritated skin for a moment longer before cleaning the ashes from his fingers and stepping back unto the street, head still spinning. He felt numb at the same time and instead of making his way back to the club he walked home, letting the cool night sooth the remnants of his headache. He tried very hard to not think about what he had seen.

It turned out that wasn’t easy, as the being appeared again. And again. It became a somewhat regular occurrence in Gerry’s life. Michael, Gerry decided to call it for a lack of a better word. Because it was Michael, it just wasn't Michael Shelley. Not anymore. In the Institute, in the bars and cafés he frequented, when he was out for one of his jobs, in his apartment. The door would appear. Michael would step out. Sometimes it would even help Gerry if he had found himself in a sticky situation. Usually it would just be there.

They'd talk, but keeping up a coherent conversation with the Distortion was nigh impossible. Gerry got used to it. It kept things interesting to try and make sense of the vague, scattered sentences Michael would give him as answers to questions, or sometimes unasked. There was only one thing it was always clear about, despite it paining it to say it. Don't trust the archivist. It didn't matter how many times Gerry assured it that he didn't, it kept saying it. Gerry got used to that, too.

It was worrying how quickly Gerry became comfortable with it around. He never let his guard down completely, he wasn't that stupid, but he got used to the slight headache, the buzzing sensation warning him that something was wrong. It became a way to tell Michael was there. Days, weeks and sometimes more would pass between Michael's visits, and Gerry noticed that, eventually, he started missing it, looking forward to whenever it appeared again. It was a somewhat disturbing realisation to have.

It was the familiarity of it all that had Gerry not even look up from his notebook when he started feeling the dull headache on one of his few lazy afternoons spent on the couch. It had been nearly two weeks since it had last appeared. Gerry tried to ignore his skipping heartbeat that had started to accompany the headaches by now. Just another warning sign, he told himself.

"Michael.", he said when he heard the steps approach.

"Gerry.", it answered, as always.

The fact that they had something of a routine made Gerry feel warm inside despite himself.

He didn't hear it come closer, but suddenly it was bending over him from behind the couch, stray strands of blond hair falling into Gerry’s vision. One touched his nose, making a shallow cut in the process. Gerry wrinkled his nose.

"Ouch.", he said, despite him barely feeling it, more teasing than anything.

Quickly, sharp edges were turned soft, an apology mumbled as a finger, pointy but no longer sharp, came to clean off the small trickle of blood. The barest touch from Michael always felt like electricity. When the finger retreated, Gerry bit his lip to keep himself from asking it to stop. Gerry quite liked the sensation.

"What are you doing?", Michael’s voice came right above him, curious and, as usual, amused.

"Drawing.", Gerry answered, nodding at the notebook in his hands.

Michael sounded surprised, "I didn't know you draw."

"I rarely get to do it.", Gerry sighed, looking up.

Michael's face was closer than he had thought and he fought the blush creeping into his face, "What do..uh...what do you want?", he asked, desperately trying to say something, unsure if it his mind was struggling because he was looking at Michael or because Michael’s face was so very close to his own.

As usual, Michael shrugged. He only ever had a proper answer when he came to help Gerry on the job, and even then he managed to say anything but.

"Do you want to sit?", Gerry asked, looking at the grinning face right in front of his own, his headache starting to worsen with the effort. He was losing the fight with the heat rising in his cheeks, too.

Michael seemed to think for a moment before nodding and, instead of coming around to the couch, he simply stepped over it and sat down next to Gerry.

"What are you drawing?", it asked, head coming to rest on Gerry’s shoulder so it could look at the drawing. It didn't seem like the most comfortable position to Gerry, their height difference making it bend its neck at an odd angle, but he guessed that was the advantage of not being human. Its hair tickled Gerry’s neck, little sparks against his skin that had been difficult to ignore in the beginning. He managed, now.

Gerry turned the notebook for better view, readjusting his position so he could continue comfortably with Michael’s head on his shoulder. By now he was used to how off it felt, Michael seemingly having taken a liking to resting it there or on Gerry’s own head when it managed to catch Gerry relaxing. Or just not running. Gerry barely glanced at it by now, his mind knowing what exactly it will find and so stopping his eyes from giving into the urge to check what the source of the weird feeling, not quite a human head but not _not_ a head, was.

Michael could see now, that Gerry was drawing an eye. It was an intricate design, the longer he looked the more details he saw, smaller shapes and fine lines all coming together for the overall picture. It was somewhat hypnotic to look at and Michael had to admit, somewhat begrudgingly, that it liked it.

“Another tribute to your patron.”, it wasn’t a question, the eyes on Gerry’s knuckles in clear view from where Michael was sitting.

If Michael cared to, he could shift his head to look at the eye on Gerry’s throat, too, or the twin one at the back of his head. He had always wondered if there were more. And where those might be.

Gerry thought about that. He hadn’t intended it to be a tribute, wasn’t even sure he’d set out to draw an eye. He had always liked drawing eyes, and it was his go-to motive when he didn’t really have a plan.

He shrugged, “Did save my ass more than once. I do still think it’s better than most oth-”, he stopped, looking at Michael with a crooked, half-apologetic grin, that threw Michael off-balance for a moment, but in a very different way from what it was used to, “No offense.”

“Mhm, none taken.”, Michael chuckled his shattered glass laughter, trying to shake off the weird feeling, and Gerry closed his eyes for a moment because that was a lot to take when Michael was so close to his ear.

When the wave of dizziness passed, he opened his eyes again, looking at his half finished drawing.

“Do you have any suggestions what else to draw?”, he asked, shifting to look at Michael again.

Michael made a thoughtful expression - at least that was the closest Gerry could describe it as - and Gerry forced himself to look, because it was fascinating to watch, no matter if looking made his headache worse. The facial features looked human enough with his usual, wide grin, but when they shifted into any other expression it was in a distinctly unhuman way, too obvious, janky. It made it easier to read the face and harder to do so at the same time and it was simply interesting to watch.

“How about...a spiral?”, it ended up saying.

Gerry burst out laughing, “I thought you’d say that.”

Michael blinked at him, as if confused, before laughing, too. It was a rare occasion, to hear Gerry laugh, and Michael quite enjoyed the sound. It was infectious.

Gerry continued with his current piece after his laughter faded, and Michael watched from his shoulder. It had become accustomed to seeing Gerry’s fingers wrapped around books and files, lighters, the occasional weapon. It had even seen him hold a pen to jot down notes, once, but this was different. They looked more relaxed. Long fingers - for human standards - wrapped around the pen losely, rather than the vice grip Michael remembered seeing as he frantically took notes in a hurry about two weeks ago. Michael watched, enraptured by the subtle shift of muscle, more noticable thanks to the eyes on each knuckle shifting with them.

They were nice, his fingers, and Michael thought it had always liked to watch them move, to look at them. It was a memory, not its own, but undoubtedly belonging to it. It hurt when it remembered, and so it just tried to focus on those fingers as they continued moving smoothly, beautifully. Michael would have liked to hold them, but that would mean he couldn’t watch them anymore, so he didn’t. It stayed where it was and watched on in comfortable silence.

Gerry did draw it its spiral, because why not, and considering who, or rather what, it was for he went all out with labyrinthine details, spirals made out of elaborate smaller patterns that twisted and turned, none quite like the other, all of them making one big spiral. When Gerry looked at the finished piece, it gave him a headache, and he was sure Michael would be satisfied. Michael had had left a while ago, by then, but Gerry knew it would be back eventually.

It appeared again two days later, as Gerry was about to get to dedicate the rest of the night to going through the files he’d gotten from Gertrude to track down another Leitner. He had had a run-in with the Hunt on his way home and ended up arriving much later than intended. Still, he wanted to finally find some more specific leads, so he sighed and sat down at the table on which had thrown the copies when he had come home before heading straight into the shower. It would be a long night, but Gerry wasn’t the biggest fan of sleep, anyways.

Gerry didn’t hear any doors open, but he felt the slight buzzing light-headedness that always accompanied Michael’s proximity before he was through with the first file. He raised his head and saw a mug being set down in front of him by a hand with too many bones.

"You forgot your coffee in the kitchen.", Michael said and Gerry couldn't remember making coffee - he did remember wanting to, at least - but he gratefully accepted the mug with a mumbled 'thanks' and took a sip.

Michael looked over the covered table, "I thought you spent your long research nights right in the Institute.", his voice dropped a little, something close to venom added to the usual amusement at the word 'institute', as always.

Gerry couldn't blame it, really. He didn’t know details, Michael clearly not wanting to talk about what happened. But he knew enough. Gerry tried not to think about it too much. The idea of soft-spoken, sweet Michael slowly losing himself in the hallway, shattering, un-becoming and being forced back into a shape that wasn’t his, was wrong for everyone- and thing involved. He didn’t want to imagine it. So, obviously, his brain sometimes made it topic of his dreams, when it got bored of his own horrors to torture him with. Gerry never asked for more details because he was doing fine adding them himself.

"There's some renovations going on and it’s noisy, so I just copied what i thought I might need."

He also had gotten into yet another disagreement with Gertrude and had desperately craved putting some distance between them. But the archivist was not somebody Gerry mentioned to Michael if he could help it. He knew it upset the other, too many emotions, none of them positive. He wondered sometimes, what Michael Shelley felt. Would have been feeling had he still been there. Betrayal, probably. But would he get angry, the way Michael did? Vindictive fury was such a difficult thing to imagine on that face. Then again, it was the same face that expressed it so very clearly to Gerry every time he mentioned Gertrude. It looked wrong, and Gerry could never tell if that was due to Michael’s nature or because Michael Shelley's face had not being cut out for such expressions. Gerry would never know.

Gerry looked at Michael as he drank his too-hot coffee and tried to calculate how likely it was for him to actually get any work done with it here. It's not that Gerry wanted to send it away, but it was a fact that it was harder to form clear thoughts with Michael around. He didn't mind, not really. Most of the time, talking to it was much more enjoyable than work. As Gerry watched Michael watching him, he felt his will and motivation to work dwindle.

He sighed, getting up, "Did you come to get your spiral picture?"

"Oh? Is it done?", came the answer and Michael was quite literally radiating waves of excitement.

Gerry thought that if he'd try hard enough he'd be able to physically see them. He turned around to get his notebook, an amused grin on his lips. There was something endearing about the instances when Michael got so caught up in its emotions they started to ooze it with every fibre of its being. Well, it was endearing as long as it wasn't his anger directed at Gertrude, at least.

Gerry finally managed to find his notebook and the correct page. He ripped it out carefully and held it out towards Michael.

"Careful or you'll cut it.", he decided to add because, as far as his eyes could tell, Michael's features and limbs and everything was still sharp; the hand being raised to reach for the paper still had knife points for fingers.

They were dulled as the hand reached the piece of paper. Michael brought it up to his face to look at it - he held it so close that Gerry wasn't sure he could even see much - and Gerry reached for his coffee to finish it as he watched Michael as intently as he dared to without making his headache overbearing.

His head had trouble comprehending what was happening to Michael's face. The usual wide grin grew wider, literally splitting the face in two, thankfully without detaching the halves. Its eyes didn't just widen in the metaphorical sense, but they expanded, the shapes and colours even more frantic than usual and Gerry wasn't sure if the appropriate reaction to this was to scream or to laugh because it looked both utterly horrifying and completely ridiculous. So he just stared, mesmerised by the head shifting from side to side on a neck that seemed like rubber to look at the piece of paper from different angles.

Gerry considered pointing out that it could just turn the paper around in its hands, but he didn't. He didn't want to interrupt as Michael thoroughly examined it with an expression somewhere between awe, glee and a headache. Gerry wasn't sure if it was headache-inducing or if it looked like Michael was having a headache. Maybe it was both. Gerry brought his hand down flat on the table, starting to feel a little woozy from staring at Michael for so long.

He averted his eyes, and when he tried to speak his chuckle came out a little broken as his mind was still processing what his eyes had just experienced, "I take that means you like it?", he said, and his tongue tasted like static. A stray thought found itself at the forefront of Gerry’s conscience then, wondering if that would be what Michael tasted like. Gerry shook his head, dismissing the thought.

Michael was nodding his head furiously as Gerry glimpsed up again, making his face look even more horrific. Gerry looked down again, head spinning.

"I love it! Thank you!", its voice was about four pitches too high to be anything but grating and Gerry cringed as his ears protested.

The next moment he felt himself being squeezed against what he assumed was Michael's torso. His body was singing, the tingling sensation amplified tenfold where their bodies met and then Michael let go and stepped away, and Gerry's spinning mind ground to a halt painfully. Gerry blinked away the remnants of confusion before looking up again and being met with what probably counted as a sheepish smile for Michael.

"I'm sorry, that was...a bit much. But I finally understand why humans love presents so much. They're _delightful_.", he marveled and clapped his hands.

Gerry shook his head, grinning, "Its fine", and it was fine. In fact,Gerry was tempted to ask it to do that again, "I think I'm not going to get much work done anymore, though.", he added glancing at the table again.

"Ah...you should take a break anyways, Gerry. Humans break without breaks.", the laughter that followed after Michael realised what it'd just said was hysterical and Gerry worried the neighbours might complain. Death metal at 3am was one thing, maniacal, ear-piercing laughter another.

"Michael?", Gerry tried, unsure if it would hear him over its own laughter.

Michael did stop, looking at Gerry attentively.

"Not so loud, please.", he said rubbing at his temple.

Michael nodded, its expression still so bright it hurt to look at it. At least the facial proportions were back to usual by now. It looked cute, that way, so much like Michael Shelley any yet different. But still cute. Gerry sighed, glancing at the files on the table one last time. He really wasn’t feeling it now.

"Want to join me for some Netflix?", Gerry asked when he looked back up.

Gerry knew that Michael had enjoyed the last time Gerry had let it watch series with him, so he wasn’t surprised when Michael’s answer came with more nodding. He was fairly sure that a normal neck would have broken from all that excessive nodding already.

Minutes later they were sitting on the couch, some random series playing - it didn't matter because when Michael was there, every series ended up just _wrong_ , which was fine with Gerry, since they usually bored him - both of them clutching a steaming mug of tea in their hands. Michael always held his mugs with both hands, an impressive task considering it could wrap one hand around the mug at least thrice. It would bring it up to its face just to sniff it and enjoy the sensation of the heat rising up to meet it. Gerry found himself watching it more than the laptop screen. It was adorable.

Gerry was still careful when he leaned closer, resting his head against Michael's arm. Usually Michael kept his edges soft now, around Gerry, since it found out that that made Gerry come closer. It liked when Gerry did. Tentatively, it put one arm around Gerry, waiting for him to tense and relax again. It had taken some time, to get to the relaxing part. Gerry had always been on edge, expecting Michael to attack, to use the opportunity of a lowered guard against him. Michael never did and, by now, Gerry could relax again, tension bleeding out of his shoulders right underneath Michaels hand. He was still alert, of course, but at least they could sit like this now without him nearly jumping up at every shifting motion from Michael. It was nice. Michael wished it could pull him even closer. Instead, he drew patterns on Gerry’s arm, and Gerry hummed appreciatively.

Michael left when Gerry went to bed, as usual. As usual Gerry found himself wishing it hadn't. It was harder to ignore at night, the pounding of his heart when he thought of the way Michael's fingers had felt against his arm, how he could still feel a slight buzzing from where they had touched his bare skin. It made Gerry feel unfamiliarly warm and fuzzy and wish it were still there. He groaned, throwing one arm over his eyes. It was getting harder and harder to ignore and he should really tell it to get lost.

Gerry didn’t tell Michael to get lost, of course. He was already in too deep. And fairly sure that wouldn’t make much of a difference. Not like he had ever invited the being over. It just showed up, a yellow door appearing wherever Gerry was at random times.

Despite Michael showing up on a somewhat regular basis, Gerry never opened the door himself when it appeared. He let it be, knowing that, sooner or later, many-knuckled hands would start turning the doorknob. He never gave into the curiosity of opening it, which he was proud of. He had always been too curious for his own good.

So when Gerry did open the door for the first time it was because he didn't realise what door it was. He was bloody - most of it not his own, as far as he could tell - and the blow to his head when he had fallen earlier left him somewhat disoriented. The only thought left clearly in his mind was the urge to run, to escape. So when he saw the yellow door it didn't even occur to him that it looked completely out of place. It was an escape and so he didnt think twice about opening it and slipping inside, closing it behind him as he carried on running, aching muscles telling him that he'd need to find a place to catch his breath, if only for a moment.

He stumbled as he thought that, and then he was falling but instead of the concrete floor from the warehouse complex he had been in a moment ago it was ugly, green carpet coming closer. And then it wasn't as he stopped falling, leaning against something that felt like a wall, but with imbs to wrap around Gerry. He froze, and glimpsed a row or mirrors to his side, hung on the yellow walls of a hallway. The hallway. Gerry had read enough statements to know. He was inside the Spiral. Which meant that the wall he was leaning against was probably Michael. He looked up, craning his neck nearly painfully to try and see the face attached to the chest Gerry was resting against. It didn't feel like a wall at all, now that he thought about it.

He didn't manage to really see the face, vision swimming with a headache he hadn't felt in a while. The face came to meet him, though, and suddenly Michael was right there, so close Gerry was surprised he didn’t feel its breath, before he remembered it didn’t breathe.

“Gerry? Are you...alright?”, it was saying, voice frantic, worried.

It sounded wrong, and Gerry was having trouble focussing on the words as he could only watch those lips move, lips he’d been wanting to kiss and now they were right there and his head was throbbing.

“Can I kiss you?”, he heard himself say, the desire to close the gap between them the only clear thought in Gerry’s head as his blood rushed in his ears, mostly srill from being hunted, but not exclusively.

The words registered slowly and Gerry felt the colour rise to his face when Michael pressed its lips to his. Something clicked into place inside Gerry at that, something hollow Gerry had been deliberately ignoring filling to the brim with the electrifying sensation of those lips on his; those lips that didn't quite have the right shape, were both hard and soft at the same time and utterly _intoxicating_.

His right arm was going numb, and Gerry kept it pressed to his side, using his uninjured arm to wrap around a too-long neck, pulling Michael closer. Gerry realised that it had been a close call, that he had come closer to the end than he would have liked to, that he had nearly been gone without experiencing this kiss that felt so very perfect and right and yet wrong. The small hairs at the back of his neck were standing up as something slid into his mouth, not quite a tongue but also not not a tongue. Gerry pressed closer, in spite of his body's revulsion at the sensation. It did taste like static, Gerry thought distantly, as his hand buried in hair that really wasn't hair at all, steadying himself as he felt thin fingers rubbing his back, holding him like he might disappear any moment, desperatley pulling him closer.

Gerry was lying on his back, back against something soft as he was kissed breathless, pointy fingertips following the line of his throat, a dull scraping sensation that was driving Gerry mad in the best way, making him gasp and clutch at Michael's back, first a shirt, fabric like static against Gerry’s fingers, before it dissolved and his fingernails were burying into not-quite-skin and Michael made a _noise_ that sent Gerry's mind spiralling, so very unlike anything human and so very much _Michael_.

"Michael.", Gerry managed to breathe out in between kisses and his voice sounded foreign in his ears, heated and desperate and _wanting_.

It understood, as the next moment Gerry's clothes were gone, long, long fingers meeting sensitive skin, fingers like knivepoints, dulled to not break skin as they traced his chest, his naval. They were everywhere and Gerry’s head was whirring, his skin hot, and he noticed his arm wasn't stiff and hurting anymore so he brought it up to bury in ever moving fractal hair, glass shards made soft, to pull Michael even closer. It was never close enough.

Gerry was still dizzy by morning, the unmoving body next to him, which never truly ceased to move, making it impossible to fully clear his head. Gerry didn't mind. He turned to look at it and it was staring at him. It didn't sleep. It smiled at him, the usual grin made softer at the edges. It looked fond, and Gerry smiled back, leaning his forehead against Michael's.

It only occured to Gerry after Michael had left later that morning that he had actually gotten a fairly good night’s rest, despite having the Distortion pressed against him all night. He froze at the realisation, halfway between his bathroom and the kitchen. Gerry didn’t sleep well in company, never had. Well, he didn’t sleep well in general. But usually the prospect of there being somebody to witness his violent tossing, or being there when he awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and ready to fight whichever horror was attacking him, because there was always, _always_ something out to get him, made sleeping impossible.

But he had slept. With Michael. Gerry blushed a little at that. With Michael _in his bed_ , he should rather say. The former was frankly less surprising to Gerry. Which was a realisation that only made him blush more. He shook his head. That was besides the point right now.

What Gerry truly was wondering about was how he had managed to sleep through the night with somebody - or something - next to him. Especially considering that something gave him headaches when awake already. Especially considering Gerry did not remember those fading, or even the static seemingly coming off Michael, making Gerry’s skin tingle where they touched. It had certainly been there when he was falling asleep, he remembered it clearly, his whole back tingling as Michael’s chest lay against it. How had he even fallen asleep? Did he misremember? Gerry sighed, finally taking the last steps into his kitchen. He needed something to eat. Maybe his head was still a bit foggy and he _was_ misremembering. Or maybe it had been exhaustion. He _had_ been exhausted. Gerry decided to think about that later as he started cooking, a soft grin playing on his lips.

Gerry got to try out his theory soon enough, as Michael appeared again a couple days later, when Gerry wasn't running for his life. Instead, Gerry was in the Institute when it showed up and there was a moment of hesitant awkwardness as both stood across each other, unsure about how to proceed. It was Gerry who closed in, unable to take it anymore, and pressed a quick kiss to Michaels jaw, since that was as far as he could get on tiptoes when Michael was standing at its full height.

The effect was immediate, Michael's arms wrapping around him and pulling him close as it bent down to kiss Gerry. Gerry felt his body hum under the touch, the buzzing sensation making him feel aware, alive. His arms wrapped around Michael's neck, holding it in place as he kissed back with equal fervour. Neither of them even thought of pulling apart, Gerry aware, somewhere in his whirring mind, that they weren't alone in the Institute, but he found it difficult to care when long fingers were tracing the line of his spine, making his breath hitch.

Gerry was breathless when they pulled apart and forgot to breathe completely when he looked into Michael's eyes, intense and focused, only for a moment, only on him. Gerry’s head was spinning with how close they were, and Michael was grinning widely, as always, except it wasn't quite as always. It looked like it was a grin specifically for Gerry. Gerry grinned back, feeling somewhat drunk.

Michael watched him work for a while, never straying too far, hand coming to twist Gerry’s hair around long fingers whenever Gerry dared to stay in the same position for longer than a couple minutes. He had a vague memory of the same sensation lulling him to sleep a couple nights ago. And then he was back to wondering.

Eventually, he looked up, nearly bumping his nose into Michael's head, which was much closer than he had expected. It was difficult to tell, sometimes. Michael looked down to meet his gaze, curious. He had always been very interested in whatever Gerry might do next.

"Do you...uh...want to stay? The night?", he ended up mumbling, barely intelligible as his face grew hot.

Michael looked somewhat surprised, a rarity Gerry always enjoyed seeing on those features, before grinning, running fingers down the side of Gerry's face, "Depends. Are you planning to spend it in the dusty archive or in your dusty apartment?"

Gerry drew his eyebrows together, "My apartment isn't dusty.", he said, taking some insult.

He wasn't the most meticulous in keeping his living space clean, and he spend a lot of time outside of it, but it really wasn't that bad.

Michael laughed wholeheartedly and Gerry's cheeks turned even darker at the memory of a similar laughter, lower, right next to his ear as he was coming undone under fingers too long and too thin and just _perfect_.

There was a glint in Michael's eyes, like it knew exactly what Gerry was thinking about, when it spoke again, "Yes.", it said, simply, fingers trailing down Gerry’s neck.

It took Gerry a moment to understand what it meant, his thoughts already hard to pin down when Michael was just close, much worse when it was touching him. Even when Gerry managed to discern that it had answered his question, he wasn't entirely sure what exactly it had answered. Maybe he should specify that what he’d meant to do was seeing if he could sleep again. The feeling of Michael's fingers tracing the eye on his throat sent a shiver down his spine again, and Gerry decided that that wasn't necessary.

He did sleep. And he did so again and again whenever Michael would extend his random visits until morning, which it generally started doing most of the time. It took convincing, sometimes, because in the morning Gerry was dizzy from staying so close for so long, and Michael disliked being responsible for him struggling to get up without falling. But Gerry didn't care much for mornings when he actually got some proper sleep. Nightmares didn't come for him when Michael was there, his sleep usually dreamless, then, or full of colours and shapes and static.

When Michael wasn't there, all was back to normal, so Gerry couldn't say that it just had stopped. Michael seemed to make it stop. He didn't know why, but it wasn't like much of Gerry’s life made sense in the first place, so he stopped mulling over it and simply enjoyed the nights he didn't wake up close to panicking. When Gerry told Michael about his strange discovery, the other had somehow managed to look pleased and displeased at the same time. It was in his nature to bring fitful nights, so Gerry was describing a failure. At the same time, it didn't want to make Gerry suffer, so it was glad to hear that, despite the groggy mornings, the nights were apparently restful. It was a whole new experience for Michael and it was thrilled.

As Gerry became more busy helping Gertrude and spend even less time at home, Michaels visits became more rare. It didn't like being too close to the archivist and most of the time Gerry was too busy anyways. It was fine. Occasionally, Michael would join him in his hotel rooms, keeping him company as he worked, slipping into bed next to him when Gerry had finally reached the point of exhaustion where he couldn't stay up any longer. The lightheadedness in the morning was more of a problem on those trips, however, and Michael often left after what he assumed where a couple of hours of good sleep for Gerry. Gerry didn't complain about it, didn't say much of anything as he was usually too tired. Michael also didn't say much, only pressing out his first warning through gritted teeth, not wanting Gerry to forget, no matter how painful it was to say. He was spending more and more time with the archivist and, despite Gerry reassuring Michael that he really didn't trust her beyond what was necessary for work, Michael was afraid that was already too much.

Gerry was home for the first time in what felt like years. He wasn't even sure if it had been a month. Somehow coming home had felt nothing like it. His apartment felt strange to him and he had spent most of his time in the Institute, anyways. Nothing new, then.

Gerry had no idea what time it was when he carried himself into his kitchen to make the next cup of coffee. He had lost count of how many he’d drunk since coming home from the Institute with more files and more leads to follow up on.

He wasn't even sure how long he had been standing there, in his kitchen, staring down at the coffee, when he felt a familiar weight settle on his head, thin, too long arms wrapping around his middle. Gerry barely felt the slight ache of his head he knew must be there through the haze of exhaustion.

"Gerry.", Michael whispered, squeezing him softly.

"Michael.", Gerry returned, letting himself indulge a little, leaning into the hug.

He sighed. He missed having Michael around somewhat regularly, but he hadn't had much free time to even think about it. Michael didn't like coming for visits when he was travelling with Gertrude, which had been most of what Gerry had been doing lately. There just was no time. Quite literally, considering they always seemed to only locate rituals when they were about to be completed.

"You need to sleep.", Michael mumbled into his hair, voice a bit sterner than Gerry remembered. When had he last heard it talk?

Gerry sighed, "I'm not done yet."

"You'll never be done.", Michael said, voice going a little softer at the edges, one hand coming to Gerry’s hair, removing the hair tie.

Gerry hadn't even realised how tight the ponytail had been and sighed as the tension bled out of his scalp, hair falling loosely. He felt his shoulders relax, too and it took him all his self control to straighten up and trying to shake Michael off. He still had things to do. He couldn't give in like this.

Michael didn't let go, running his fingers through the black locks instead, seemingly undisturbed by Gerry's efforts to escape the hug. Not that Gerry was trying too hard. He _was_ tired. He missed Michael. His laptop waiting with another 50 tabs to check was having a hard time sounding more appealing than the feeling of Michael's fingers in his hair.

"Please sleep.", Michael whispered.

Gerry sighed, resigned, leaning his head back a little, into the touch, and looking up at the face above him. Michael looked worried, in a way it only ever did when Gerry had had a particularly rough run in with an avatar or the sorts. Gerry must really look like shit if Michael was giving him that look.

"I give up. I'll take a nap, okay?", he mumbled, pressing his face into Michael's neck, inhaling that scent he could never quite remember because it was like so many things at the same time but also like nothing at all. It was Michael.

Michael made a sound that made it clear it wasn't completely satisfied with the prospect of Gerry taking a nap, but Gerry felt him nod anyways. He let Michael pull him to the bedroom, energy draining from him as he embraced the idea of taking a nap. When _had_ he last sleep?

Gerry let Michael tuck him in, his eyelids already heavy the moment his back hit the mattress. Michael looked delighted by the fact that, for once, Gerry was letting him do that without complaining about it being unnecessary. Gerry liked that expression. Then again, he liked most expressions on that impossible face.

His hand reached out to catch Michaels wrist as it started pulling away. He sounded sluggish when he spoke, "Where're you going?"

"Letting you sleep."

"How will you know I did if you're going?", Gerry pulled on its wrist lightly, "Come in."

Michael hesitated, "You need rest. Proper rest...without...confusion."

This wasn't the first time they were having this conversation, but certainly the first time Gerry was struggling to keep awake enough to explain that he'd rather have Michael next to him and wake up somewhat groggy than not having Michael next to him when he awoke.

It took too many words to piece together such a sentence now, so Gerry pulled a little harder, looking up at Michael in exasperation- albeit a very tired version of it - and simply said, "Michael!", sounding like a whiny child insisting on its candy.

Michael couldn't keep itself from chuckling, though it tried to keep it down as to make it easier on Gerry’s ears. It definitely hadn't imagined ever seeing Gerry like this and, were it not for the circles under his eyes that looked worse every time Michael stopped by, it would have been thoroughly endeared by the view. It was it was still very cute, and warming Michael from the inside, in a way only Gerry ever did. Michael carefully pried Gerry’s fingers off its wrist, squeezing them for a moment because Michael missed touching his fingers, holding his hands in its own. They felt even better than it remembered.

It walked around to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers next to Gerry, who instantly wrapped his arms around it, rolling up against Michael's side and sighing into its shoulder. Michael caressed his cheek for a moment, noting that it looked somewhat hollow and wondered if Gerry had forgotten to eat again. It would have asked, but Gerry’s eyes were already closed, his breath slowing down as he slipped into sleep. So instead, Michael brought his fingers up to tangle in his hair, watching as it wrapped strands around its fingers only to release them again.

Michael knew exactly what he could do playing with Gerry’s hair without disturbing his sleep by now, many a night spent exactly like this, or in similar positions. Michael always liked when whatever sleeping position Gerry went for allowed it to play with his hair. He didn't let it do that a lot when awake, usually too busy and finding it distracting. It used to be something Michael could do when he caught Gerry relaxing, drawing or just watching movies on the couch. It had been a very long time since Michael had managed to find him like that, so he was glad for the current opportunity. Gerry made a small, satisfied noise, probably already more asleep than awake. This was better than nothing, at least. And Michael would see to it being a very long nap.

Gerry knew he'd slept too long the moment he awoke, light making it through the cracks in the blind and unto his face. He sighed, shifting to hide his face in Michael’s arm. He could still feel the other’s hand in his hair, just as he had before falling asleep for good. Not for the first time he found himself wondering how Michael didn't get bored with it. Peeking up to look at its face, there was the same wonder in it he had gotten used to seeing there every time Michael would play with his hair.

Gerry reached up to take the hand in his hair and gently pull it down, pressing a kiss to its palm, "Morning…"

"I think it's midday or something. Good morning.", Michael answered with a grin, oozing with self satisfaction.

Gerry groaned, rolling unto his back and rubbing his eyes. So late and so much to do. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He did feel better, rested. His thoughts were clearer, despite Michael beside him. He also felt Michael more clearly now, head light and a dull ache at the back of it. It felt right. He had missed this feeling.

"You look like you should eat.", Michael mumbled.

Gerry turned his head to face it, take it in. He never quite remembered it right, its features a bit too off, body too sharp for Gerry's memory. He had long given up trying to remember Michael Shelley. Every time he tried the smile was too wide, the eyes never the right shade. But still not an accurate depiction of the Michael as it lay next to him.

"I think I'd rather kiss you."

Michael raised his eyebrows a little too high, "Not a good idea if you want to get work done."

"I don't care right now.", Gerry grinned, pulling Michael into a kiss.

Michael returned it, eager as ever, and Gerry smiled. He clearly wasn't the only one who missed this. Arms were wrapped around him and he was pulled close, his body humming in response to having Michael all around him. Yes, he had certainly missed it.

As expected, he had to close his eyes and wait for the worst of the dizziness to subside when they pulled apart, but he stayed close, one hand drawing small circles on the palm of Michael's hand. The touch still send small sparks through him, like electricity but not - he was fairly sure he would have electrocuted himself by now if that were the case - which wasn't helpful in shaking the lingering lightheadedness.

"I told you it was a bad idea."

"Shut up, this was the single good idea I had in months."

Michael sighed, and even in his sighing there was a chuckle. It wrapped his hand around Gerry's and squeezed.

"It's not going to go away while I'm here, you know."

"Don't go.", Gerry said it quickly and with such desperation he surprised himself.

Michael was also stunned into silence, which was certainly an achievement. But Gerry was too shocked himself to notice.

Michael turned its head to face him and Gerry opened his eyes again. By now his brain barely reacted to the obviously-should-be-broken neck. A short spike of discomfort, gone in a second.

"I thought you had work to do.", it said, sounding genuinely confused.

"I do."

"You also want me to stay."

"I do."

Now Michael laughed and Gerry thought his ears might bleed. Michael noticed him flinching and cut itself off, touching his cheek in what might have been a calming motion if it weren't for the electrifying nature of its touches.

"You're just...being very contradictory. You'd have made a great avatar of the spiral.", there was mirth in its voice but also something else underneath, something that had always sounded like jealousy to Gerry.

Sometimes, Michael was ridiculously human, in a way.

"Mhm…", Gerry mumbled, leaning over and pressing his lips to its jaw, "Maybe it's your influence.", he brought his free hand up to its face, brushing some hair out of its forehead before tracing its features tenderly, "Maybe I'm just getting demanding.", he chuckled against its neck, planting feather light kisses down to its collarbone.

Michael shivered, eyes fluttering close again with a sigh. It didn't want him to stop. It reached out to pull him closer, flush against it, and buried its face in Gerry's hair. Gerry chuckled against its chest, low and fond, and Michael wondered, not for the first time, if it would combust from the warmth spreading inside of it at the sound. It felt Gerry’s fingers on his back, tracing a too-long spine, slipping under the fabric of the shirt covering it when they arrived at Michael's lower back, drawing another shiver from it and a satisfied hum.

"Let's stay a little longer like this, hmm?", Gerry asked, a bit teasing, but loving.

Michael brought its hand to the nape of his neck, playing with his hair, occasionally brushing the sensitive skin between where his hair roots ended and his shirt began, making Gerry shiver, too.

"Alright.", it mumbled, voice muffled by Gerry’s hair but it didn't matter. Gerry knew it would never say no to such an offer.

Michael did leave a couple hours later, leaving Gerry to his work. Gerry's apartment felt empty and strange again, with it gone.

It didn't show up again before the morning of Gerry’s flight, when it sat on his bed and watched him pack.

“That’s a lot of things.”, it commented.

Gerry looked up at it, “It will probably be a long one.”

It looked disappointed. Gerry sighed, finishing packing and putting on his coat. He was tired and part of him couldn’t wait to get on the plane and hopefully get some sleep. The other part wanted to roll up next to Michael and just sleep here. He shook his head. It had taken so long to finally piece the leads together. Finally, the nights spend researching were going to pay off.

“I’ll be off, then.”, he mumbled, stepping up to where Michael was sitting.

It was an interesting perspective, to be able to see its face so clearly while standing up without craning his neck. He sighed. Gerry disliked goodbyes and wasn’t particularly good at them. Now he found himself wishing Michael hadn’t come, which made him feel guilty because it was looking at him with something akin to a pout, clearly disliking the idea of Gerry leaving again. Or maybe it wasn’t that clear, but Gerry had just become that good at reading its incomprehensible expressions. It had been quite some time since it started its visits.

He pressed his lips to Michael’s forehead, running his fingers through its hair. He lingered, longer than necessary, feeling Michael leaning into it. Gerry chuckled at that, looking at Michael after pulling away.

Michael met his eyes, “That felt..nice.”, it made a face when saying it, but Gerry was used to the contradictory expressions it made for comments like that.

“Mhm, I’ll keep that in mind, then.”, Gerry grinned, pressing his lips to Michael’s for a moment, “I’ll need to go now.”.

Michael looked sad again, and Gerry knew he had to really get out because he couldn’t bear that look. He could deal with the dizzying headache that came with looking into those eyes, but being looked at by them with that expression made his throat feel tight at the same time. He kissed Michael’s forehead again, this time just a peck, before turning around, picking up his luggage and leaving the apartment.

Michael simply watched as Gerry locked the door to the apartment behind him. It never liked the idea of Gerry spending time with the archivist. Even worse when he was travelling with her, making it difficult for Michael to stop while avoiding running into her. It didn’t want to see her. It wanted to see Gerry, to see that he was okay despite spending so much time with her. He had always been, until now. He didn’t really trust her, he said. Michael still couldn’t shake the creeping worry, something it was fairly sure had not belonged to him before. It didn’t like it.

Gerry was alone in the hospital room when he felt the end coming. There was no fight left in him. The doctors had been pretty clear about how this was the most likely outcome. So he wasn’t surprised. Or scared. But he _was_ alone. Gertrude had left to meet up with their contact, though she had looked quite uncomfortable in the first place. Or maybe rather disapproving. Gerry guessed it was a good thing he wouldn’t die under that scrutinizing glare. He could still feel it, now, even with his eyes closed and her gone. He should be glad she was gone.

There were fingers brushing through his hair, gentle, despite feeling very unlike fingers. Gentle probably wasn't the right word, but there had never been right words for Michael. Gerry opened his eyes to see blond curls moving on their own, a pair of bright eyes looking down at him. It hurt to look as always, but Gerry was beyond caring.

"Michael.", he said and regretted it instantly, cringing at how weak his own voice sounded.

Michael continued petting his hair with his many jointed fingers, "Gerry."

Gerry waited for it to continue. It didn't, just kept running fingers through Gerry’s hair. It was hypnotic and Gerry was unsure how much of that was the motion and how much it was the nature of Michael being so. Or maybe it was because he himself was barely there anymore.

"Say something.", Gerry asked after the silence dragged on, this time keeping his voice low so he wouldn't have to hear it breaking so loudly.

It still took a lot of effort to form the words. But he wanted to hear more of Michael’s voice, wanted to be sure it was really there. The fingers felt real, but Gerry’s vision was swimming, Michael’s edges dissolving. He wanted to hear it.

Michael didn't know what to say. It had waited for the hospital staff and the archivist to leave, trying to understand what was happening. It hadn't expected to find Gerry in the hospital in the first place. He should have been in his hotel room, unpacking. Not lying in a white room full of beeping machines and needles in his hand.

"I warned you not to trust her.", Michael finally said because he remembered the archivist's look as she left, calculating, and it knew Gerry would suffer.

Its usual amused tone didn't sound right, like that wasn't the emotion it wanted to convey at all. Gerry was used to it by now, to the slight nuances in that voice hinting at what it truly was conveying. In that moment he wished he hadn't been. Michael sounded frustratingly sad. Gerry wanted to comfort it, but he could barely speak.

Gerry licked his dry lips, collecting his strength to answer, "She has...nothing to do with this."

There was something wrong with Michael's face, he noticed. Well, there was always something not right about it. That was the point. But the expression it was wearing was foreign to Gerry, something he couldn't read or place. There was something running down its cheeks. It looked like tears. It looked distinctly unlike tears.

Gerry felt the urge to reach out and touch but he could barely feel his arms anymore. The order from his brain did not reach them and so all he could do was squint up at Michael, trying to bring the slightly blurry image into focus. Gerry knew that Michael was never quite in focus. But he had the impression that it was worse now and Gerry was afraid that that might be more due to his body shutting down than due to the nature of not-being of Michael's. Gerry wanted to see it.

"There will be pain.", Michael whispered, and yet it pierced Gerry’s ears, making his head ache.

He mumbled, "I'm used to it.". Because he was. Michael knew.

Michael shook his head violently, hair bouncing wildly. Gerry was struck by the urge to touch it. He remembered its texture. Nothing like hair. Utterly wrong. So very right between Gerry’s fingers, smoothed edges wanting to go sharp again, to cut. But Michael had always liked Gerry’s hands in its hair. It had kept its edges smooth.

"It's nothing like you know. It's worse, it's…", Michael struggled, face contorting from the effort of speaking clearly, of finding the right words.

Right hurt him. Gerry didn’t want it to hurt. It was difficult to follow the words by now, anyways. He wanted it to stop.

“Kiss me?”, Gerry didn’t know if he ended up saying it, barely registering his mouth moving, not hearing his own voice.

He must have said it though because Michael’s blurry image came closer and then Gerry felt a slight tingle against his lips, a shadow of the intensity he remembered from those kisses. It was better than nothing, though, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation, trying to stay.

He wanted to hug Michael, keep him there, but all he managed was a weak twitching of his fingers. Michael must have noticed, covering the hand in question with its own and squeezing it lightly. Gerry felt it, but distantly. He struggled to open his eyes again, but gave up when it became obvious that it was too much.

Michael watched his eyelids flutter, his face contorting with the effort of opening his eyes before he stopped with a broken, frustrated sigh. Michael caressed his cheek. It felt off. Cold and dry and fragile. Michael knew how easily Gerry could break and rip and die. Michael seen him get hurt many times, had been the source of a bleeding cut more than once when it forgot how quickly Gerry’s skin was punctured.

Never had it felt it. Never had it actually feared Gerry might crumble under its fingers. Michael was hurting, but not from doing the right thing this time, but from how very wrong Gerry felt. Looked. Thin, skin sickly pale, black hair oily with sweat despite his skin feeling dry. His roots were showing and Michael knew Gerry would wrinkle his nose if he'd see that. He had always kept up with the dying, hating to see the natural colour coming through. Michael had helped, sometimes. It couldn’t help now.

Gerry couldn't see it now. Gerry looked exhausted. More than he ever had. Like all the exhaustion in his life had caught up with him now as he was bound to this hospital bed in a strange country, unable to move and _slipping_.

Michael traced gerrys eyebrow with one finger. It wished those eyes would open again and look at him, sharp and clear, a trace of amusement or mischief, or even annoyance or seriousness in them. Michael wondered if he was missing Gerry. He shouldn't. Gerry was here. A little bit of him.

Michael’s other hand started combing through his hair again and watched Gerry relax, a rare occasion in life. His face went slack and his breathing soft and shallow. Michael could see him slipping. He didn't let go, didn't stop caressing because he knew Gerry liked it, even if he couldn't feel it properly. Michael continued even after Gerry’s chest stopped rising, machines attached to him starting to beep differently. Michael didn't stop because he didn't want to, then, not because he knew Gerry liked it. There was nothing Gerry could feel anymore. Gerry was gone.

Michael bent down again, pressing his lips to Gerry’s forehead. Gerry, of course, didn’t react. And Michael was _hurting_. It was hearing steps approaching, so it forced itself to let go of Gerry’s hand and hair, to pull away from his face.

A yellow door appeared and it stepped through it. The yellow door was gone by the time the nurses opened the door to the hospital room.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something short to try my hand at writing Distortion!Michael but I had too much fun and this escalated waaaay beyond what I had planned.


End file.
